Shedding More & More Shame Daily

It is only lately in my life that I have begun to realize that size, ability or challenges, appearances, and a whole host of other more physical things do not make or hinder desirability, sexuality, sensuality, or even likability. Yes, there are stigmas, bigotries, hate crimes, and other despicable cruelties we humans do do to each other based on real or contrived differences. And, the harm is horrendous. No escaping that terrible fact. Nor can I escape the damage done through years of terror, abuse, and neglect. But, that is not all of the story I have begun to discover and work through in some new ways for me.

One of my first insights to help me begin to heal on body issues about 20 years ago was the simple fact that without my body, none of the other qualities I admired could exist as me. My body was my home. My body is me, a reflection of me, and the portal into all of me. With the simultaneous insight of a deeper awareness of how all "things" are connected, I began exploring how my body was also connected to all things.
I did not learn to love me or my body well, but I started by learning not to want it dead all the time. Some days this is a monumental effort even now albeit for different variations on earlier reasons. I did learn that others similar to me were loved deeply as they are. I learned other in worse conditions than I faced also were loved deeply. Not all like me were loved. Most were still trapped in the cruelties of life. But, for me, I began paying attention to the possibilities. I hungered for those. I decided I could be loved too. I knew how to love. So, I decided to continue working on me, making me a better conduit of love while at the same time doing as much research about the issues as possible. This research included listening to my body and learning the words to put to different emotions and other sensations. My insight was to work toward wholeness and healing in such a way that I could become the kind of lover I would want, and somehow that would attract what I needed, desired, and longed for to me... in me.

And, here I am. I am not yet shameless, but I am shedding more and more shame every day. What a relief!

Thirsting to Fly

Jeanette Winter's observation of lovers as quoted from her work The Passion is a sensual display of observation by a third party who happens to be a poetic prose type writer-thinker. She paints a vivid word picture of the nervous stage fright of a type of new lovers just meeting passion/lust. She does accurately report how many express the delighted terror of the new encounter with sexual opportunity just met - the "3 F phenomenon" of fight, flight or f*ck. Alas, too many never advance from this stage into an ever growing mature love & passion but rather become addicted or stuck in believing that this is all there is. Then when this fleeting, untamed, somewhat unpredictable spark is over, they go on to look for the next spark without even trying to build a long-lasting bonfire.

For me, the initial meeting with someone expressing sexual interest in me has felt like an attack. The delighted terror has had heavy emphasis on the terror part and little of the delight. I had been terrorized daily from the beginning of my life well into adulthood while also being "taught" to be a "good girl" at all costs or meet my destruction... as if I was not facing my destruction daily...  and so I married, have a son, faithfully dead ever since... except the inner me kept growing....

Something untamed, wild, almost fae within me thirsted to fly, knew there was more & that I was more than all I was going through. My search for my own wholeness, my own wisdom, my own "me" has been a costly way with a long way still to go. But, fly I most certainly do. Imagination is a powerful path. Dreams can be made realer flitter by impish flitter, hard work by hard work, one step at a time. Unimaginable pain can be endured if the inward vision sees the dream possible. Impossible things happen every day. Fly with me please.

“Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, conversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. They do not stroke the favoured cat and their face-paint comes loose. This is not all. Whatever you have set store by, your dress, your dinner, your poetry, will go wrong.

How is it that one day life is orderly and you are content, a little cynical perhaps, but on the whole just so, and then without warning you find the solid floor is a trapdoor and you are now in another place whose geography is uncertain and whose customs are strange?

Travellers at least have a choice. Those who set sail know that things will not be the same as at home. Explorers are prepared. But for us, who travel along the blood vessels, who come to the cities of the interior by chance, there is no preparation. We who were fluent find life is a foreign language. Somewhere between the swamp and the mountains. Somewhere between fear and sex. Somewhere between God and the Devil passion is and the way there is sudden and the way back is worse.”
― Jeanette Winterson, The Passion

It Circles Round

It Circles Round

Vague coursing
Snaking inwardly
Back and over and under
Up and around
Then back down again—
Unknowingly knowingly unknown
Shifting, sifting, lifting
A restless, rootless
Wildness…
Refusing continuance
Bound and chained
To a life not my own.

(C) 11 October 1994, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Issues. Everybody’s Got Issues.

Issues. Everybody’s Got Issues.

Identity crisis would be just fine
Had someone not just smashed mine.
“I found myself.” “I lost myself.”
Everywhere: self, self, self.

Hello and how do I do?
I’m very sorry, have I met you?
Yes, I met me the day I’s born;
Then I left me all forlorn.

Oh, you poor and silly me.
How could you possibly not know me?
All my life I’ve felt so dizzy.
Gosh, finding me has kept me busy!

(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

P.T.S.D. Begins

P.T.S.D. Begins

Pinch me. Am I alive?
Yes, but I do not feel it.
Isn’t it strange to be alive yet feel dead,
Such deep wounds and never reveal it?

Nobody knows. Nobody sees.
Nobody knows except me?
Everyone knows. Everyone sees.
Everyone knows except me?

Constant turmoil. Constant calm.
Brightest clouds. Darkest sun.
Scorching rain. Pouring heat.
Standing still on the run.

Hiding in the open field;
Cowering in the hidden den;
Am I really so innocent
Drowning in the deepest sin?

(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A Wound for a Heart

A Wound for a Heart

Bubbling, boiling, heatedly churning,
Frothing and foaming, emotions are burning
Into my heart, my stomach, my head,
Violently reeling alone on my bed.

I cannot stop thinking. The memories come…
Upheavals, eruptions, but just feeling numb.
My stomach is knotted; memories play in my mind.
Tormenting and mocking, my life in a bind.

Furiously hating, bitter rancor,
Anger, hurt, fear: my grudging anchor
Holds me in place, frozen in time—
Will I ever be free from their despicable crime?

Sapping my energy, draining my life,
The past cuts right through me like a well-sharpened knife.
Will I ever be freed from my past?
Will I ever find peace in my heart that will last?

The chains are too heavy, too tight and too much,
Tangled, intertwined with my soul in the clutch
Of their cold, evil fingers, tearing me apart—
Big, gaping wounds in the place of my heart.

(C) 17 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

That Old Nameless, Faceless Fear Again

That Old Nameless, Faceless Fear Again

I have known the terror
Of never being sure
Just when the next trauma
Would engulf my little world,
Of living out a nightmare
Yet appearing very good…
For whom?

I have known the terror
Of never feeling safe,
Of being ever vigilant,
Of pretending to be sedate…
How docile and passive—
Like an electric barbed wire!
But who cared?

I have known the terror
Of sleepless nights and sleep-filled days,
Of feeling lost and wandering
Through a mine-filled maze,
Of always looking back and forth,
Of never being sure…
Of whom?

(C) 23 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

My Eyes Have Told My Story All Along

My Eyes Have Told My Story All Along

I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
I wasn’t as ugly as I was led to believe,
Regardless of my age or my size.

It was a stranger looking at me,
Yet I recognized my big sad eyes.
My story told a story amazingly clear.
They saw through a life of lies.

Fixed eyes and focused, sad and alone,
Waiting for the unseen…
Eyes filled with a purpose yet gentle and kind,
Fiery and strikingly keen.

Sweet eyes yet haunting,
Knowing yet stilled,
Ready to pounce,
Yet sealed.
Scares eyes and timid,
Searching for love,
Questioning without answers…
Hawk with eyes of dove.

Mysterious yet open,
Guarded but real,
Penetrating,
Much to reveal,

My eyes told my story
There all along,
But no one saw it before?
Clearly something’s wrong.

Yet my eyes covered it up,
Hiding inside,
Remaining undetected—
My life relied.

Yes, I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
Seeing myself for the very first time
In my quietly beckoning eyes.

(C) 30 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Determined

Determined
In the heart of my heart is a door
Long locked and barred.
Aching. Yearning.
Deep desire.
What passion ruled me there?

I want to be loved, respected, admired.
I want to be an artist, serene.
I want to be saintly, earthy, risqué.
I want to be alive in all ways.
I want to be graceful, wise, fun, and deep.
I want to dance, sing, and run.

A secret compartment deep in my heart,
Buried yet ever with me.
Blocking. Preventing.
But not anymore.
Because I am determined to be me.

(C) 31 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Who Are You? Me!!

Who Are You? Me!!
Dark, deep swirling in the river of my soul,
Sucking whirlpool and crashing wave.
How I’ve longed to trace you and
The devilish pain you gave,
But I never could quite discover
Even who you were, you knave.

Struggle, strive, stretch, searching,
Desperate to find relief,
In every nook and cranny,
Turning over each stone and leaf;
I hounded you to dispatch you—
To rest finally was my belief.

Who are you, my constant companion,
Who I fear, hate, yet long to see?
You outwit me, and you mock me,
Yet you fit me to a tee.
I hate you now I love you.
How dare you be me!

(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Personally Balanced

Personally Balanced

If I were sweeter water still
And not some brackish brine,
If I were only whippoorwill
And not a herd of swine,
If I were only oak and ash
And never knotty pine,
If I were only lakes and trees
And not a deep coal mine,

Then I would lack the bass-er notes
That swell the symphony,
And I would even lack the pain
And tears of sympathy;
My life would only be so flat—
No room for empathy,
And I would—perfectly dull—
Not have much company!

(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Self-Observation & Self-Discovery

Self-Observation & Self-Discovery

Focusing on sensations puts us more directly in touch with what's motivating us, while at the same time helping to free us from the story lines which tend to obscure our feelings. In this way, greater awareness to our sensations increases our emotional sensitivity. ~Marshall Glickman

One of the more healing concepts for me was being made aware that I could get to know me and could discover more about me by seeing my body's reactions to whatever I was choosing to focus on at the time (for example, trying to discern why I cared about something said or done,) by allowing myself to feel whatever it was I was feeling, and by watching to see what arose in and from those feelings, which was not always easy to discern. Observation, listening intently, and just sitting as a sacred witness to me was revolutionary in concept alone. All I was requiring myself to do was just to observe myself quietly, receptively without judgment or rush to do something about whatever I was feeling.

Even with my continuing attempts through the years to practice this observational skill to get to know me, there are still many times I baffle myself, and that is fine. It means I need to spend more time getting to know me. Sometimes I care about something that has very tangled, deep roots that curl around poisonous substances within my memories or psyche that are still too traumatic for me to handle well yet. That, too, is fine. I give myself permission to be as complicated as I am with respect and acceptance. I try to be gentle and kind with myself with whatever I observe. Of course, I am still learning this as I am not prone to being gentle with myself and also tend to hurt myself deeply often. I have a long way to go in learning to accept, respect, and love who I am.

But before I can really love, accept, and respect me, I must know me. This is why I learned this practice in the first place. I also discovered that before I can truly love, accept, and respect someone else, I must be able to be offer these same kindnesses to me.

22 March 2011, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

My Quotes Dealing with Abuse Issues

17/06/11

Why take the drugs when you can live here & have a bad trip anytime you like? The only side effects are insanity with a bad attitude. No boredom, but it comes with a big price tag - you'll never know what is reality ever was... if there even IS a reality, one that seems never to go away. Welcome to the nightmare time. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

15/09/10

Do we ever in this life know why things turn out as they do? Some of what we think of as our worst flaws saves us much grief while some of our best strengths don't help when we think they should. Still, all works together for us in ways we don't always see. Nothing is as it appears. So, I say relax more, enjoy, & work with whatever happens. Might as well smile, too. It's free. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

21/01/11

Brave smiles to hide the tears ripping a living heart asunder. Such sad eyes. Why can I not reach you with my hands? You are so far. But, I can reach you with my heart. Can I move mountains to love you? Will it be enough? So many mountains need a very big heart. I can & I must try. Love & Life demand it. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

22/01/11

Decades later she still heard the terrified screams, smelt the blood. The words "she talked" burned, locked her in an extreme-still silence. No visible sign of emotion was safe. Ultra-sweet compliance was her defiance & survival. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, Baby Tears

25/01/11

Moment by moment I am training myself to respect all of me as a whole & worthwhile person. I am learning to turn scared into sacred. I am learning that I really am who I am, & who I am is exactly who I was meant to be. I am learning this is the same for all my relations in creation. AND, it is a joy. ~ Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw

Love’s Crumbs

Love’s Crumbs

She runs as if from danger,

Running with no time to spare.

She’s running as from a stranger fate than she has found there

In her isolated little room

Where her phone is her only source

Of life ouside her lonely tomb…

Draining of life force…

She’s too sad to sit and weep;

She’s too numb to feel;

She’d prefer to eat and sleep…

Upon her lips a seal—

You don’t miss what you’ve never had, do you?

She wonders.

She’s not had much share of joy…

She sighs, thinks she’s bad…
Her eyes are sad yet full

Of life…

She’d give her all for a crumb of love

And swear it’s the best she’d ever had…

She walks through life not knowing

Her own beauty or her power

Has a lovely way of showing

Her as a rare and beautiful flower.

ã12 November 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Scandal Mongers

Scandal Mongers

Off on a tangent, as though knowing all,

The reality of facts ne’er from their lips fall.

The heartbreak of scandal on innocent heads

Embarrassed beyond all shades of reds…

Speculation’s a game that has many risks.

Judgment’s a call of many tsk, tsk, tsks.

I told you so goes up the cry

Even if the truth be there to deny.

ã4 May 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Harsh Forgivings

Harsh Forgivings

Life is like the ocean…

Its vastness is fluidly changing

Second to second

Even when calm;

The harshness affords little mercy,

But the depths hide many sins.

ã14 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Please Don’t Leave Me Here All Alone

Please Don’t Leave Me Here All Alone

Away you go on a trip of which I cannot join,

And I am afraid.

Afraid you’ll go never to return;

Afraid you’ll die;

Frightened I’ll never see you alive again;

Frightened I’ll be alone

Forever…

Left behind…

Forgotten and unloved…

Unclaimed.

Unwanted forever.

ã19 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Instinctively Led

Instinctively Led

With hope as the anchor for my soul

As I feel so tossed and torn,

With steady course before me set,

I walk though weak and worn.

Others tread similar paths

Even though I feel alone.

I know my anchor will continue to hold

Even though I feel cut to the bone.

Confused and clear, numb and pained,

Trauma upon trauma relived,

Agonized hauntings my memories come

To make my whole life sieved.

Yet deep in my heart I hear the voice

Of God speaking to my spirit,

Telling me exactly which way I should go,

And, thankfully, my spirit can hear it.

ã22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

OK, But Don’t Tell Me I’m Going to Like It!

OK, But Don’t Tell Me I’m Going to Like It!

What do you do when you’re all alone

And it strikes?

You cannot scream loud enough,

Or get numb enough,

Or run fast enough,

Or sleep deep enough

To escape again.

And you know escape is not even the answer.

But how do you welcome torment,

Embrace agony,

Beckon to torture,

Entreat misery,

Cohabit with trauma,

Flirt with devastation?

And damn it all! That’s the only way out.

ã31 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Recovery

Recovery

Pain, how I hate you,

You excruciating fiend,

Who causes me to cry out with the agony

Of a tortured mind and heart

That tears and ruins my body

And destroys my very soul.

You’ve made my life as miserable

As you possibly could…

But, you failed.

I live. I cry.

I breathe. I sigh.

I think. I try.

I love. Oh, my!

Pain, you gave all you could,

And you still try to wear me down,

But you might as well give up

Because I will banish you one day to hell…

You cannot ruin my spirit—

I will overcome!

I am a survivor, and I will fight you…

And the battle’s just begun!

ã17 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.